


Shout Without a Sound

by spuffyduds



Category: due South
Genre: 100-1000 Words, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-01
Updated: 2010-02-01
Packaged: 2017-10-06 22:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spuffyduds/pseuds/spuffyduds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Note:  Story was written for the prompt of the picture at http://sexisnottheenemy.tumblr.com/post/276502305/tiredofbeingignored-clingtomymouth-via (sorry, can't get a link to work), and makes considerably more sense if you look at the photo first.  While this particular picture is fairly tame, it is at a photo site which is quite thoroughly Not Safe for Work, overall.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Shout Without a Sound

**Author's Note:**

> Note: Story was written for the prompt of the picture at http://sexisnottheenemy.tumblr.com/post/276502305/tiredofbeingignored-clingtomymouth-via (sorry, can't get a link to work), and makes considerably more sense if you look at the photo first. While this particular picture is fairly tame, it is at a photo site which is quite thoroughly Not Safe for Work, overall.

There's never a right thing to say, after a Sunday lunch with Ray's parents; nothing that will jolly Ray out of the black mood he'll be in for the rest of the afternoon. But silence doesn't work either, just hangs there between them while they walk block after block. Fraser's learned better than to share the small hot space of a taxi with Ray when he's already furious; it just brings him to a boil that much quicker.

"He's trying," Fraser says, finally, and sure enough Ray rounds on him, red-faced.

"How many years we been together and he's still fucking _trying_?!?" Ray says. "I'm supposed to still be _grateful_, to be giving him points for _trying_? Jesus."

Fraser can't think of anything to say to that, because, really, he agrees. Ridiculous how long it took Mr. Kowalski to invite them over at all; ridiculous how many visits after that it took for him to look directly at or speak to Fraser; ridiculous that even now Fraser makes sure to sit in one of the armchairs for the stilted postprandial conversation, because Mr. Kowalski flinches and flushes if Fraser dares to sit next to Ray on the couch.

Barbara chatters on merrily, asks after their work, asks how the house-hunting is going. Her husband mostly stares out the window, and occasionally mentions his brother's wonderful grandchildren.

"You're right," Fraser says, and Ray bumps shoulders with him, says, "Hey, sorry, not your fault, I just--"

And then they round a corner and are confronted with a lone protester, armored in a sandwich board. Not unusual for Chicago, certainly, but this man's protest sign is peculiar in its detail and specificity.

Reading it makes Fraser tired, a kind of tired that goes all the way to the bone marrow. He pinches the bridge of his nose, recites in his head a calming mantra he saves for this sort of situation--oddly, gleaned from one of Ray's more raucous favorite songs. _I used to be disgusted, but now I try to be amused_, he thinks, and turns to Ray to make some sort of bitter and jagged joke, the kind that tastes bad and hurts his mouth as it leaves. Something along the lines of "If all masturbators went to hell, heaven would scarcely have the population to make up a bonspiel."

But Ray--Ray is not amused. Ray has gone from red-faced to completely pale, blank and bleached-looking as though he'd been bled. Ray is trembling slightly. Ray has, very clearly, reached the end of his tolerance and rope.

And Ray is suddenly airborne.

Fraser's stunned for a moment, because even in this state he can't believe Ray is simply going to assault a Chicago citizen exercising his free speech rights, however vile said speech might be. But no, Ray is launching himself at _Fraser_.

Launching at, and slamming into, and wrapping around.

They're on a public sidewalk, with a crowd gathering, and Ray's arms are around his neck, Ray's legs are around his waist, Ray's tongue is in his mouth.

For just one second Fraser thinks _at least I'm not in uniform_, and then he's sick with shame at himself for thinking that, and then he's not thinking at all. Someone in the crowd hoots approvingly, and the protester behind Fraser snarls something about sodomites, and Fraser's not thinking, just kissing Ray back and holding onto him tightly, holding on for dear life.

 

\--END--


End file.
